


Meet Your Heroes

by MagpieWords



Series: AUgust 2020 - Magpiewords [10]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Record Shop, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Comedy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:27:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25887319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieWords/pseuds/MagpieWords
Summary: There was no way that Ezra Fell, one of the greatest rock guitarists of all time, was walking into Crowley's little record shop. With abowtieof all things.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: AUgust 2020 - Magpiewords [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860265
Comments: 8
Kudos: 75
Collections: AUgust 2020





	Meet Your Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again with another fluffy AU! I know the cliche is Crowley as the flashy rockstar, but I wanted to play with the other side of that reality.

“Nah, that ain’t you.” Crowley dismissed the idea out of hand. The short, stout, undeniably handsome gentleman standing in front of him, that vaguely reminded Crowley of a particularly fuzzy lamb, was not the guitarist currently playing one of rock and roll’s greatest solos over the store’s radio.

“It is! I am!” The man huffed and put his purchase on the counter. “You know, with customer service of this caliber, I am tempted to take my business elsewhere.”

Crowley shrugged. “By all means.” And he gestured to the door. With a quick glance of Wolfgang Mozart and Andrés Segovia records laid across the counter, Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. “Don’t think you’re in the right shop anyway.”

“Young man, I have been coming to this establishment long before you ever even held a guitar.” Unfortunately, the man was not making his way towards the door. Ah well, not like Crowley had anything better to do.

“I know my skincare routine is good, but I don’t think anyone’s called me a young man since my thirties. If you’re trying to butter me up for a discount, I’m afraid you’ll have to try harder.”

The man sputtered. “Discount? Butter you– no, absolutely not!”

Crowley just laughed. “Fine, then that’ll be,” he glanced over the two records again. “Sixty six quid.”

“Excuse me? The tag clearly labels each of these records as twenty.” He wasn’t wrong, but Crowley continued to grin.

“Extra fee for the music lesson I’m clearly going to need to give you.”

That caught the man’s attention, oddly enough. The Pomeranian-like anger dropped out of him, his shoulders losing their tension. If Crowley could have believed it, he would say the man was smirking at him. But such a soft face couldn’t possibly be capable of that, could it? Maybe Crowley’s glasses were smudged.

“Oh, kind shop clerk, I would truly appreciate that. Do you perhaps have a moment now?” He made a show of looking around the empty record store. “Doesn’t seem like you’re too busy.”

Crowley sighed. This joke had quickly gone worse than expected. “Yeah sure.” He hopped over the counter and moved towards the back of the shop, taking one of the sample guitars off its display stand. “You got a name or should I just pretend to call you Ezra?”

“Mr. Fell will do just fine.” He followed along after Crowley, trailing his hands over the edges of the record crates, like he was actually familiar with the shop. “Fans call me by my first name, but since you clearly don’t know who I am, I don’t think you’re a fan.”

The song on the radio had changed, something more mellow and easy to play over. Crowley tightened the strings, playing a few cords before practicing the piece he’d been working on.

“That’s not bad.” Mr. Fell had taken a seat on the bench next to Crowley. “Are you doing anything in the local scene?”

There was something about the way he said the words, as properly as someone ordering crepes in a restaurant Crowley could never afford, that made Crowley laugh. “Uh, yeah kind of. I’m the frontman for Hell’s Belles. It’s just a cover band.”

Mr. Fell took out a notepad, of all things, scribbling the name down. “Clever. And cover bands are how we all start.”

“How we all start,” Crowley mimicked, though, try as he might, he couldn’t make his voice quite as posh. That voice couldn’t hit the notes he’d heard Ezra Fell sing on the countless records he owned. He shoved the display guitar into Mr. Fell’s hands. “Alright, _Ezra_ , you’ve got so much guitar experience, show me what you can do.”

Just like Crowley, he fidgeted with the strings for a moment before strumming a few cords. Then he played the exact same solo that had been blasting over the radio two minutes ago.

“Holy fuck.”

“Actually,” Ezra said, as he put the guitar down gently. “That was from the song ‘Holy Fire’, but it’s an easy mistake to make.”

“You’re actually Ezra Fell.”

The man who literally had three platinum albums, standing in Crowley’s run down little record shop, rolled his eyes. “I told you I was.”

Crowley looked up and down at the man- the legend- standing before him. It would have been an embarrassingly obvious move in any other situation, but Crowley had to confirm that Ezra Fell, rock and roll’s personal angel, was wearing tweed. “Didn’t you have a flaming jacket?”

“Er…” If Ezra was bothered by Crowley’s once over, he didn’t seem focused on that anymore. He tugged at the posh waistcoat he was wearing, straightening buttons that were already in perfect order.

“You did. It was flaming like anything.” During concerts, the crew would coat the leather in gasoline and let it burn off as Ezra blew everyone’s minds with his solo. To Crowley’s knowledge, the trick never had any complications. It had been his favorite costume of any rock group. He’d made a homemade version of it back when he was starting to learn guitar.

“Er, well–”

“It looked very impressive, I always thought. Though I’m sure you get that a lot.” Crowley would tape his mouth shut next time he got back behind the counter, because he could not seem to shut up. He could feel a blush burning over his cheeks. This wasn’t the first time he’d met a celebrity, there was no need to act like such an overeager teen.

“Yes, but, well–”

“Finally burned up, did it?”

Ezra shook his head fervently at that. Crowley could sympathize with the guitarist’s need to defend his crew. “Oh no! No, it didn’t burn…”

Polite fan behavior be damned, he had to know. “Well?”

Guilt fluttered through Crowley at how wretched Ezra looked from the prodding, but, never cowed by interviewers before, the rock star pushed on. “If you must know, I gave it away.”

Crowley felt his jaw go slack for a moment, eyes wide enough to see around his dark glasses. That jacket was worth more than his car. “You what?”

“I gave it away!” In that shout, Crowley could hear the best supporting vocals music had ever known. “It was this charity event and I hadn’t played a live show in years, so I certainly didn’t need it. My style had already changed, as you can see, and it was such a good cause. I know the fans were upset about it, but I really had no idea we’d do a reunion tour.”

The more Ezra rambled, the more Crowley felt his own anxiety fade as clarity washed over him. He wasn’t sure how he would do it, yet, but he knew with absolute certainty that he was going to do whatever it took to keep this perfect man in his life. Whoever said ‘never meet your heroes’ must have had the wrong heroes. 

“I cannot believe you’re actually Ezra Fell, in my shop.” There went his mouth again.

“Well, Mr. Crowley,” Ezra gave him a once over in return, though that could be an optimistic opinion of a searching glance for Crowley’s name tag. “You’ll be seeing a lot more of me in _our_ shop. Because I,” He took the notebook back out again, scribbling down a few more notes and tapping down his pen with more force than necessary, “will be buying it.”

Crowley’s new plan had quickly gone a lot better than expected.


End file.
